


The North Remembers

by bearatheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:09:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3092639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearatheon/pseuds/bearatheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the end of A Storm of Swords right through to the beginning of the Winds of Winter, and beyond, if I'm able to be slow enough to catch up with GRRM (more than likely). POVS are Alysane Mormont and Stannis Baratheon as we don't get theirs in the books. Basically, this is what I like to think happened when they teamed up and started taking back the North like regular grade badasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alysane I

She’d dreamt of a stag chasing her through the forest, his antlers aflame.

Aly sat upright, blinking into the darkness. These were not her chambers. In fact, she had no idea whose chambers they were. Where the fuck am I? She mentally cursed her drinking habits as she slipped out from the furs, the cold air biting at her naked skin. Aly chuckled. Starks are always right eventually; winter is coming.

She stretched towards the ceiling, feeling every muscle release individually. Her breasts bounced as she shook herself out. Aly had always loved the size of her breasts; a perfect handful. Men seemed to love them as well, and the occasional woman. The young Mormont smirked. Where the fuck are my clothes?

Her feet pattered on the wooden boards as she rustled up her clothing. I’m in one of the inn’s rooms, she surmised. The first clue was the basic decorations. One bear pelt, and mounted antlers on the wall adjacent to the window. Aly shuddered as she looked directly at the protruding antlers. Quietly pulling on her clothes in utter darkness was a skill that Alysane Mormont had acquired some time ago.

The door only creaked ever so slightly as Aly slipped out into the hallway. She was pulling on her boots as she made her way downstairs, so the quiet exit was not entirely an option. Aly stumbled on the last step, which earned her a quiet giggle from the door of the kitchens.

Garth, the best cook on Bear Island, ran Hunter’s Keep like one would run a ship. He ran a hand through what little hair he had left, stark white as it was, and grinned. Garth had lost most of his teeth in what Aly could only imagine were inn fights. When you live on an island infested with bears, you learn to keep up a standard of fighting. Aly’s uncle, Lord Jeor, had outlawed betting when it came to fights, but that never stopped the men of Bear Island from having a decent hit at one another. Aly had entered the ring herself, and had come out victorious more often than not.

“How are you this fine morning, Garth?” Aly grinned, fixing her hair into a braid.

“You can’t charm me with that smile, young cub. You may well get every man with a stiff cock into your bed at least once, but I remember you as a babe,” Garth retorted, not unkindly.

“I wasn’t really suggesting you get into my bed, Garth, but thanks for the offer,” Aly smirked, leaning on top of the bar. “What time is it anyway?”

“Only be past dawn, cub,” Garth replied.

Aly pushed past him into the kitchen, the smell of fresh bread baking too tempting to refuse. She snagged a hot piece off the bench, and with a slap over the back of the head from Garth as she left, Aly sank her teeth deep into the roll. By the time she left the inn, her mouth was watering, and she managed to scoff the entire piece in mere moments.

The young Mormont breathed in the fresh air, tainted with the morning’s dew. The sun was creeping steadily over the horizon, greeting the day, never fearing what it may bring. Aly smiled contentedly to herself as she made her way down the ever so muddy path that led back to the cabin like castle that was her home.

Not many of the villagers were stirring just yet. Aly did happen to catch the attention of Bryne, one of the stableboys she had bedded some years ago now, leading out her own mare Smoke. She was a beautiful creature; the tainted colour of grey and black infused on her always pristine coat. Bryne also happened to be looking pristine that day, his auburn coloured hair flopping gently over his forehead. Aly had always suspected him to be the father of her daughter, Lysa.

“Good morning, milady,” Bryne offered, with a secret smile just for her. Aly almost regretted the ‘bed them only once’ rule that she had made for herself when she’d fallen pregnant with Lysa nine years ago. His bright blue eyes and auburn hair told the story of his last name, Rivers – sired by some Riverlands lord who bedded a Bear Island cook some visit twenty five years previously. Aly had often wondered why he didn’t take the name Snow, as he was raised a Northman.

“Good morning, Bryne. How is she?” Aly enquired, stepping down into the stable yard and moving toward Smoke. The grey mare appreciated the affection, nuzzling Aly’s hand as if expecting to find a treat of some kind. Aly was sorry to disappoint her.

“She’s as beautiful as ever, just as my milady is,” Bryne smiled, his white teeth flashing ever so slightly. Aly smirked.

“Are you likening me to a horse, Bryne?” Aly asked, mocking offence. Bryne turned pale, looking abashed as he stuttered over an apology. “I am joking, Bryne,” Aly finally offered, putting the poor boy out of his misery. Hardly a boy; he’s the same age as you, a quiet voice told her.

“I ought to be getting on, Bryne. The best of luck with her today; she gave me a good start a few days ago. Hopefully she’s over it,” Aly smiled once more, patting her mare on the neck, and making her way to the castle.

Bear Island’s stronghold, known simply as The Keep, was made entirely of wood aside from the main tower. Bear Island was of course known for its lumber production, and no child on the island was unfamiliar with an axe. More often than not, it was a warrior’s choice of weapon if they heralded from Bear Island.

Aly was much the same. She was gifted with the sword, and often carried two short swords across her back when she went into battle. But at her belt were also two axes; a longer one for combat, a shorter one for throwing. She was not very tall, but where she made up for it was in her sheer strength. Aly Mormont was stronger than many of the men she commanded into battle. The nickname She-Bear was not lost on her at all.

The young cub trudged into the main hall of The Keep, staring at the empty seat at the top of the dais. There the Lord or Lady of Bear Island sat, and her mother Maege had not sat there in some time. The War of the Five Kings had been taxing on the Mormont house; Maege, the eldest Dacey, and Aly’s younger sisters Jory and Lyra had been sent off to war.

Aly was left with her youngest sister, Lyanna, and of course, her two children. Her eldest, Lysa, was a girl of nine, the same age as Aly’s sister Lyanna. The two were nigh inseparable, and Aly was grateful for it. Her son, Ned, was barely two. Named for the now late Warden of the North, Ned was now growing up in an autumn that was rapidly ending, and would have to face the winter sooner rather than later.

She walked up to the dais, the chair where she had to sit for the past year. Running her fingers along the pine, Aly marvelled at the carvings there. Bears were laid into the woodwork, with pine trees. Where bears were often a nuisance for most on Westeros, bears were a symbol of Bear Island’s courage and ferocity. No man, woman or child had died from a bear attack in near three thousand years.

Aly smiled to herself.

“My lady,” called a voice.

Aly was brought from her reverie so suddenly that she reached for her dagger. As she turned to the entrance, she saw that it was only the maester, Cowan, gripping a piece of parchment. Aly softened as she laid eyes on the man that helped raise her, at great expense on his patience. He’d taught her to read and write, where each of the Houses of Westeros were on the map and their words, and various other things that a child ought to know. Now in his seventy-first year, the man looked to be tired beyond compare.

“Cowan, you are a sight for tired eyes. What news from the mainland?” Aly grinned, jumping down off the dais.

Cowan’s face was troubled and grave. If Aly didn’t know any better, it looked as if he had been crying.

“What is it?” Aly asked, heart jumping into her throat.

“News from the Twins, my lady,” Cowan whispered.

“What, what has happened?" she stuttered. Cowan wasn't too keen on revealing with words, only offering the piece of parchment he was holding. Aly couldn't be bothered with reading.

"Speak man!” Aly didn’t mean to get angry with him, but she felt a burning sensation in her eyes and her heart hammered in her chest. Her blood felt as if it had been chilled. Something horrible had happened.

“Our king…he has been betrayed,” Cowan said, more firmly than before. Aly stopped breathing. “Walder Frey has allied himself with the Lannisters. Edmure Tully’s wedding…it was a slaughter, my lady,” Cowan continued. There was a ringing in Aly’s ears that she couldn’t understand. When had she fallen to the floor?

“Mother? Dacey? The girls?” she choked out, traitorous tears running down her cheeks as she looked meekly into Cowan’s eyes. He sat down as well, cross legged, gripping Aly’s arms in reassurance. Aly was certain she was going to throw up.

“Your mother and Jory and Lyra have gone North to the Wall. With Brandon and Rickon’s deaths, King Robb means to make Jon Snow his heir,” Cowan said softly. Aly’s heart momentarily calmed down.

“Dacey?” Aly asked, whispered, afraid of the answer.

Cowan’s jaw clenched tightly, tears running down his face as he shook his head.

Aly’s stomach clenched. Her heart stopped working, it had to have stopped working. She gripped Cowan with all her might, not even aware of how or when she starting crying her guts out.

Dacey.

After what seemed to be millennia, Aly wiped her face clean. She stood up slowly, feeling blood rush towards her legs. She helped Cowan to his feet, and stared around the hall with bloodshot eyes. Without meaning to, her eyes had set on the dais. Heir.

“You are the heir to Bear Island, my lady,” Cowan said firmly, rousing Aly.

Aly’s mouth set into a hard line as she stared at the dais.

“I am.”


	2. Alysane II

“No, Aly, you have to grip it like this!”

Dacey was showing her how to hold an axe. Dacey couldn’t have been much older than eight, making Aly five. Their cousin, Jorah, watched from the side, nearing his twenty-fourth name day. His golden hair was messy with wavy curls, showing signs of a receding hairline even this young. Jorah was smiling, watching them closely. Uncle Jeor was standing next to Mother, nodding encouragement her way.

Aly held the axe the way Dacey had shown her. She was eight, but Dacey knew so much about everything that Aly had no way of keeping up. She could ride, throw an axe a reasonable distance, and was so much taller than Aly. Brushing her wayward hair out of the way, knowing she wasn’t far off a haircut, Aly lunged at the dummy with her axe.

When it connected, a resounding resistance warped its way up her arm, stunning her backwards. Aly landed on her bottom, in the mud, the axe flying from her hand. Dacey managed to jump out of the way before it smacked her in the legs. Aly blushed a ferocious shade of red.

“How are you going to defend Bear Island if you can’t even wield an axe?” Dacey admonished, helping Aly out of the mud.

***

Aly jerked awake, safely in the confines of her quarters in The Keep. She’d dreamt of Dacey again. Their family was whole when they were children. Uncle Jeor hadn’t gone to the Night’s Watch only to be killed by his own men, Jorah hadn’t been banished to Essos for slave trading, and Dacey was alive. What would Jorah say if he knew? Aly didn’t know. She didn’t want to know.

A fortnight had passed since the news of the Red Wedding. Aly hadn’t moved from The Keep in fear of Roose Bolton thinking that she was moving against him. She would love nothing more than to smack the traitorous ass and his bastard into the ground, but she had neither the men nor the resources. The North, it seemed, was lost.

Cowan advised caution, as she knew he would. Maesters, whatever else they studied in Oldtown, obviously learned the art of mediation and patience as well. Or maybe that came with age. Aly wondered if Maesters were brought from the womb as old men.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Aly forced herself out of bed as she had done every morning since the news. The worst of it was Lyanna and Lysa’s reactions.

Lysa had broken down into tears, but Lyanna had set her jaw in place with a determined look and hadn’t relinquished it since. Not many words were exchanged between Aly and her youngest sister, beyond “Why aren’t you rallying behind the Starks?”

“Because there are no Starks left,” Aly would have to remind her, but Lyanna was never going to give up. A typical Mormont trait. Robb was slain, Bran and Rickon destroyed by Theon Greyjoy, and Sansa married to the Imp. She was now a Lannister, no matter her birth. Aly would die a thousand deaths before she allowed a Lannister to be seated at Winterfell. That left Arya, and the Gods only knew where she had disappeared to. Aly had assumed the worst and named her dead, as the rest of the Realm did.

Jon Snow was an option, but he was a man of the Night’s Watch. Aly knew her uncle would never have allowed a Night’s Watchman to forsake his vows and become a Lord or King, whatever Robb Stark had wanted. No, Snow would have to stay at the Wall, and defend the North from the direction it didn’t really need to.

Braiding her hair with deft fingers, Aly pulled on her regular attire, but now accompanied with her weapons and chainmail. There was no way in any Hell was she walking around Bear Island unarmed since the Red Wedding. It was a pain in the ass to wear it all the time, but Aly would rather sore muscles than a sword through her children’s hearts.

Forcing her face into grim determination, the heir to Bear Island trudged down the stairs to the dining hall. Lysa, Lyanna and Ned were seated already, Ned being assisted by Maester Cowan. Lysa was silent, as she normally was, chewing thoughtfully. Lyanna, on the other hand, had not touched a morsel of food.

“Are you planning on eating, young cub?” Aly asked, settling into the head chair. It felt uncomfortable, as if she didn’t deserve to be seated there.

“Are you planning on doing anything about the Boltons?” Lyanna snapped back, hands in tight fists on top of the table.

“Young lady,” Cowan sighed exasperatingly, but Aly raised a hand to hush him.

“By all means, Lyanna, if you have any plans at the age of nine, please share,” Aly said sweetly. The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Lyanna, who narrowed her brown eyes to almost slits.

“I am not a coward, sister. If I were heir to Bear Island, I’d have moved against Roose Bolton already,” Lyanna shot back, digging her knife into the pine.

“Well, hopefully I’ll die and you’ll get to be heir,” Aly retorted. Lyanna looked as if she wanted nothing more. It wasn’t strictly true; if Aly were to die, Bear Island would pass to her daughter, not any of her sisters. They still hadn’t heard from their mother or sisters since the Red Wedding. It made Aly sick to the stomach.

“Stannis Baratheon is an option none of us have considered before,” Cowan almost whispered, not daring to speak any louder than necessary. Aly stopped eating completely. She had never even considered the King in the Narrow Sea, defeated on the Blackwater by the boy king Joffrey.

“Lord Stannis has no army, and barely any ships left after Blackwater,” Aly said, but considering, rather than shooting the suggestion down. No one had heard from the Lord of Storm’s End since the defeat, and that was at least six moons ago. Aly bit her lip. What she knew of Stannis Baratheon was from what Jorah had told her after returning from the Iron Islands. He was a hard man – he would break before he bends.

Stannis Baratheon sounded more Northerner than Southerner.

“Lord Stannis is not the King in the North,” Lyanna snapped at Cowan, finally forcing a piece of sausage into her mouth.

“Quiet, Lyanna. The adults are talking,” Aly grimaced. She never liked to keep Lyanna out of the loop, but Stannis Baratheon could very well be their last hope for the North. Lyanna wasn’t going to hear anything unless it was about finding a Stark child or smashing the Boltons.

Lyanna sat and brooded as she chewed on her meat. Aly drew her eyebrows together thoughtfully. If they were to side with Stannis Baratheon, the North would no longer be independent. They would have to be considered a part of the realm that Stannis governs. On the other hand, it removes the Boltons, and restores the North to those who fought long and hard for it. The Karstarks could possibly be the new Wardens, but Robb had taken Rickard Karstark’s head for treason.

The only family that Aly did not want in contention for the honour of Warden of the North was House Mormont. It was not a title that the Mormonts would want. Her mother would undoubtedly be gifted, but Aly? Power did not suit her unless it was the power of a weapon taking a man’s life in duty for the North.

The North.

“The children have left, my lady,” Cowan said.

Aly looked to the old man. How long had she been sitting there? She looked down at her breakfast, still only half eaten. She no longer felt hungry. It was more likely to be chucked up in any case.

“You have been thinking of Stannis Baratheon?” Cowan surmised. He made it sound more statement than question, in her opinion. He always did know how to read her mind.

“Yes,” Aly finally choked out, placing her utensils on the pine table. She bit her lip.

“And?” Cowan asked, patient as ever.

Aly looked to him with, what she was sure, a pained expression. Tears were welling in her eyes again. She punched the table to make herself stop, but that only made it worse. Where are you, Mother? I can’t do this by myself.

“I don’t trust a raven to fly the length of Westeros bearing this message, and I can’t spare a rider. I will have to wait as I have been doing for the last fortnight. Patience is a virtue I’ve yet to master, it seems,” Aly finally said, coming to a conclusion. Two weeks of inaction was forgivable. Gods, two months of inaction was forgivable. But Lyanna will not let up so long as she draws breath.

“We need a list of the allies remaining to us in the North, Cowan,” Aly said suddenly, getting up from her chair. “There is one thing I can do – I can gather allies in favour of Stannis Baratheon. Those who lost members at the Red Wedding will be the first in line. But this is an event that will bind the North together the way we never have before. Roose Bolton betrayed not only his King, but his countrymen. We cannot abide that.”

Cowan nodded sombrely. He disliked war as much as the next maester, but he did what he had to.

“The Reeds are loyal, as they always have been. Howland Reed was Ned Stark’s greatest friend beside Robert Baratheon. The Manderlys lost a son, Wendel, at the Red Wedding. But who knows how they will side. The Umbers will be loyal till the bitter end – Smalljon was killed at the Red Wedding also,” he paused, and Aly took in a sharp breath. They were still learning how many men and which men they lost during the betrayal and Smalljon Umber had been one of Aly’s greatest friends.

“The Glovers are loyal, but Deepwood Motte remains in the hands of Ironborn. Dustins, again, Northerners through and through. They lost many at the Red Wedding. House Cerwyn ought to be loyal, but they are too close to Winterfell. Both branches of Flints lost men at the Red Wedding. House Locke should be with us.” It was all a blur in Aly’s head. Most should be loyal. But would they be Northern enough to rebel against Roose Bolton?

“The Ryswells should be a worry. Lord Rodrik’s daughter was married to Roose Bolton before she passed. And the Karstarks? Who knows what they will do. King Robb executed Lord Rickard, as we know, and his heir Harrion is a captive of the Lannisters.” Cowan rattled off, counting out his fingers as he did so.

The heir to Bear Island shook her head out like a dog. Admittedly, the North did not have as many noble families as any of the other kingdoms, but it was a lot to process for a woman who didn’t particularly want to have any part in this. Aly quickly wiped her mouth on her napkin and started her way to the entrance to the courtyard.

“Where are you off to, my lady?” Cowan asked.

“I have to train if I am to lead a rebellion,” Aly said gravely.

How are you going to defend Bear Island if you can’t even wield an axe?


	3. Alysane III

Aly swung her axe fiercely into the lumber, watching the wood splinter as it yielded to the steel.

She was furious. Beyond furious, in fact. The last two moons had not given her the results she craved. The Hornwoods, Cerwyns, Tallharts, Ryswells, and Dustins had all sworn for Roose Bolton before Aly could get her riders to them. The Cerwyns there was not much she could do about, nor had the Ryswells, but Dustins and Tallharts been Stark men to the bitter end.

The tree cracked, the tell tale sign of it bending over and falling. Aly stepped back ever so slightly, watching the tree crash into the forest with a simple thud. She allowed herself a chuckle as remembered an old saying; “If a tree falls in a quiet forest, did it fall at all?” The She-Bear sucked in gulps of air, not realising she needed it till now. Her arms glistened with sweat, even with winter approaching.

Raising the axe once more, Aly began hacking away at the tree. Her horse and cart was to the right, barely even noticing its master or what its master was doing. The mule chewed on its grass, content with the day. Aly envied the mule the simple pleasure of living without having to worry about anything except carting some dead wood.

It took her some time; the noon day sun was already past its peak by the time that Aly had finished chopping the wood into reasonable sizes for fires. She could have had her men go out and do this for her, but Aly wanted some time away from Cowan and his counsel. Patience, patience, and more patience was what he always seemed to say. Aly tired of patience, and knew where Cowan could stick it.

Lyanna was getting worse. Aly heaved the log pieces onto the cart as she remembered the heated argument she and her youngest sister had had that morning before Aly left. “You’re a coward, Alysane. Uncle Jeor would be disgusted,” were the last words Lyanna had said to her. Would Uncle Jeor be disgusted? Aly had no way of knowing until she died. How was she to lead a rebellion when three quarters of the Northern lords could very well have sided with Lord Bolton and the Lannisters?

When finished, Aly hopped onto the cart and started the mule. The cart ambled along the track, never caring about getting to its destination in a hurry. Aly calmed her breathing down, relishing in the feeling of sweat clinging to her skin and clothing. The person she wanted the most at this moment was Jorah. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a decade, but he always knew the best kind of advice to give her.

Probably not any more though, Aly surmised. She wondered where in Essos her cousin was. Entertaining a crowd with his swordsmanship? She laughed at the prospect. Jorah had never been a man to be the centre of attention. He’d blushed furiously when he was knighted, and even more so when he won the Tourney of Lannisport.

Aly pulled the mule to a stop. She’d heard something clicking in the woods. Carefully reaching behind her, she pulled out her quiver and bow. A stag would be the perfect gift right now. She also hoped that it would put her nightmares behind her – the fiery stag was in her dreams more often than not of late. The maester had given her essence of nightshade to help her sleep, but it hadn’t done much.

Climbing down from the cart more gracefully than she ever thought of herself, Aly deftly walked off the track and into the thicket. Tracking had been something her uncle had taught her from a young age. She missed him terribly, and hoped to all the Gods that Lyanna wasn’t right in saying their uncle would be disgusted in her.

Drawing an arrow methodically out of her quiver, she knocked the bow with minimal effort. It was then that a boar drifted into sight, ambling down the small stream that ran through this part of the forest. Aly sighed; it wasn’t a stag, but a boar was still good meat. She stood up straight, pulling the bow to full strength. Breathing in slowly, she loosed the arrow as she breathed out.

The arrow landed perfectly through the boar’s left eye. It gave one final squeal, and keeled over into the stream. Aly smiled to herself, and made her way over to the now dead boar. As she stepped through the stream, she noticed that the boar’s blood was running into the water. The young bear stared, transfixed, watching the red swirls mingle with the clear water.

Dacey.

Aly felt as if she’d been skewered in half. Her back was on fire – it had to be, there could be no other reason for the pain. She fell into the river, water cooling her back momentarily. Aly forced herself to turn around. She pulled an arrow from her quiver as she did so, and found herself facing a bear.

Shit, was the only thought that registered in her brain before the bear lunged at her once again. Instinct brought Aly’s bow up, and the bow smashed into the bear’s mouth. Aly shuddered as the bear’s teeth clamped around the weapon, attempting to break through the barrier. The arrow that she had managed to get was in her right hand, and with all the strength she had left, Aly thrust the arrow into the bear’s eye.

The bear roared, rearing up and tried clutching at its eyes. Aly forced herself up, running back to her cart. The mule hadn’t run off after hearing the bear’s cry – it didn’t look like it had heard anything, in truth. It was munching on some grass. As usual. Aly reached into the back and pulled out her axe. As she turned, the bear was loping towards her in a slow run.

Aly was ready to slam the axe home into the bear’s head. But at the last moment, the bear reared up again, ready to attack with its arms. The Mormont didn’t miss her chance. She drove the axe into the bear’s stomach, splitting the bear open. Aly flinched as she watched the blood gush out uncontrollably. The bear whined as it fell over, blood pooling beneath its slowly dying body.

Human bear met real bear in a silent plea that begged Aly to take the bear’s life. Laboured breaths forced the bear’s stomach in and out, and it’s big, brown eyes were shutting more often than not. Aly didn’t realise she was crying until she had stuck the bear in the throat with her dagger. She knelt beside the bear as it died, tears rushing down her face. It was never an easy thing for a Mormont – killing a bear.

Aly eventually got back up on her feet. She gripped the bear with all her strength and forced it up on top of the wood. The blood would no doubt paint the wood red, but Aly didn’t care very much. The young bear made her way up to where the boar’s carcass was, and lifted that up on top of her shoulders, carrying it down to the cart.

Mormonts didn’t eat bear, but it would at least serve for the dogs. The boar would serve for dinner for the next week if they rationed it carefully enough. Aly, covered in bear, boar, and her own blood, hopped up on to the cart. She started the mule into a slow walk, and had absolutely no intentions of stopping until she reached The Keep.

***

The kitchens were her first port of call.

The cook was delighted when she saw the boar.

“Lady Lyanna will be grateful, my lady. She loves boar,” Bessie smiled through her fat, rosy cheeks. The old saying was often true; never trust a skinny cook.

“I doubt much will satisfy Lady Lyanna until I bring her Roose Bolton’s head, but thank you, Bessie,” Aly forced a smile in return, and turned back outside to the cart.

She dropped off the wood with the lumberjack, Lyle. Lyle made a face when she brought the wood to him, as if he were silently challenging that she ought not to have done it, but her cool look broke off any resistance.

“Thank you, my lady,” Lyle had said instead as he began unloading it. Aly nodded. She pulled off the bear carcass, wrapping it over her shoulders. It often surprised her just how strong she was sometimes. This was one of those times. The bear was most definitely heavy, but it was not too much of an effort for her to carry it inside the castle and up to her tanning room.

Aly gratefully dropped the carcass onto her table. She collapsed into the chair, wincing as she did so. The scratches that the bear had given her cried out to be tended.

Standing up again, Aly pulled off her shirt with great effort. The challenge of killing the bear, being in the thick of battle, had negated all feelings of being hurt. Now that her body had calmed down, the scratches were no longer a dull feeling. If someone had set her back on fire, that might have been a reprieve.

Aly clenched her teeth as she felt blood trickle down her back. She thought of calling Cowan down to tend to her, but she didn’t particularly want to see him at the moment. Instead, she went to her small cabinet against the wall, and grabbed a flagon of mead. It was not the strongest alcohol, but it would have to do.

Pouring the liquid down carefully, Aly couldn’t help but cry out when the mead hit the open wounds. She growled as she allowed more down, stopping purely to drink some of the amber fluid. After the liquid was spent, the She Bear clenched her fists together until they were white and thumped them on the table top.

She couldn’t remember the last time she was in this much pain.

The day you found out Dacey had died, a soft voice reminded her. It sounded oddly like Uncle Jeor. Aly choked down some tears. Whether she was crying from the memory of Dacey and her uncle, or the scratches on her back, she couldn’t tell. She chuckled to herself before everything went blank.

***

Alysane Mormont woke to the fresh feeling of cold water.

“FUCK!” she cried out. It wasn’t just from being disturbed from her sleep. The cold water seemed to be seeping into her very blood stream, setting her on fire again. The She Bear looked around for the perpetrator, and found Cowan glowering at her.

“What?” Aly challenged. If she didn’t know any better, she was drunk. Her head felt dizzy, and her words didn’t sound fully formed. Cowan certainly didn’t look like he was fully formed either.

“You have always been a fool, child. Why didn’t you send for me if you have been injured this badly?” Cowan admonished. Was he seriously scolding her right now? Aly stared at him blankly, hardly believing her ears.

“Maybe because I wanted to skip the lecture?” Aly offered, attempting to stand up. Cowan forced her back down with a simple pat on the shoulder. She was definitely drunk – the only time Cowan could overpower her was when she was greatly inebriated.

“A She Bear attacked you, that wouldn’t warrant a lecture,” Cowan whispered. Aly’s heart burned. She’d killed a She Bear. That made the treachery all the more worse. She turned to the other side, away from Cowan, and vomited.

“I wonder if that’s from the mead or the injuries,” Cowan chuckled. Probably a bit of both, Aly thought darkly. He saw the opportunity to tend to Aly’s wounds as she vomited up the entirety of this week’s meals. Her eyes stung worse than she could ever remember.

“I poured mead on it to dull the pain,” Aly offered as Cowan cleaned the wounds.

“And let me guess; it didn’t dull the pain at all?” Cowan asked. Aly couldn’t see what he was doing, but she surmised it had to be alright since the pain was starting to disappear.

“Well, no. I passed out shortly after,” Aly said begrudgingly. Cowan tsked, and Aly had to resist every urge to turn around and deck him. Instead, she clenched her teeth together again as he placed bandages on top of the wounds.

“We received a raven today,” Cowan said conversationally, as if they were outside having a picnic and not tending to bloody wounds. Aly rolled her eyes.

“Am I to guess the contents of the raven, or are you going to elaborate?” Aly asked sarcastically, gritting her teeth as Cowan finished his bandaging.

“Joffrey Baratheon has been killed at his own wedding,” Cowan said bluntly.

Aly sat up straight, immediately wishing she hadn’t.

“Really?” she asked, turning her head ever so slightly.

Cowan simply nodded.

Aly released the breath she had been holding.

“Weddings are the best places to die, evidently,” Aly muttered.


	4. Alysane IV

Lyanna was quite gifted with the bow; Aly had to give her little sister that much.

The heir to Bear Island was all but immobile for several weeks after her run in with the She Bear. She’d skinned the beautiful animal, and used it as a throw rug in the main hall. The meat, as always, had been given to the dogs. Lyanna hadn’t murmured a word of thanks regarding the boar. Aly gritted her teeth at the memory. Or maybe it was her healing injuries.

At least now she could get back out in the training yards. Only last week did Aly find out that Stannis Baratheon, the man that was supposedly broken on Blackwater Bay, had retaken the Wall from the wildlings that threatened to tear it down. Well, theoretically anyway. The King in the Narrow Sea was now the King at the Wall, and Aly frowned as she wondered what her uncle would say to a king coming to the rescue of the Night’s Watch.

He’d be grateful, but he wouldn’t stand idly by as a king attempted to run Castle Black, Aly decided. The Wall hadn’t picked a Lord Commander yet, which was quite unusual. It had been many a day, and usually, a Lord Commander could be picked within hours. The prospect frightened Aly more than anything. If things continued the way they had been going for the North, Janos Slynt was likely to come out of the voting as Lord Commander. It made Aly feel sick to her stomach.

Lyanna’s arrow twanged into the bullseye once again.

“Not bad, little cub,” Aly offered sincerely. She’d been trying to act more like an adult with Lyanna of late, and refused to engage her in arguments. Lyanna could see the difference in her older sister, and seemed more determined than ever to get a rise out of her. Aly just simply smiled. More like Dacey than she realises, Aly thought sadly.

“I’m better than you were with a bow at my age. Cowan told me so,” Lyanna said proudly, raising her chin in defiance. Aly resisted the urge to burst out laughing. That would no doubt have been worse than arguing. Lyanna hated being mocked. Dacey through and through.

“No doubt Cowan would know. Besides, I never have been fond of the bow and arrow. They feel more like a coward’s weapon. An axe or a sword; that’s where I feel most comfortable,” Aly explained, crossing her arms over her chest. “But that is still remarkable, Lyanna. Next you’ll have to learn to shoot from horseback. Your namesake could do it perfectly from a young age, I wonder if you can live up to it?”

Lyanna looked near ready to run to the stables and prove that she could do it without practice, but Cowan gratefully intervened.

“That is not a challenge, Lady Lyanna. You may try when you have mastered the skill of riding a horse without falling off,” the old man said as he ambled to the edge of the training yard. Aly chuckled to herself. Lyanna had fallen into the mud more often than not, so it was a good thing Aly had not allowed her little sister to leave the yards with her horse.

“Why do adults think they are smarter than children when they were once children themselves?” Lyanna muttered as she pushed past Aly and out of the training yard. Lysa followed her shortly after, tottering along as if she worshipped the ground that Lyanna walked on. No doubt she really did. Aly sighed.

“Because we have already been through the mistakes that children make,” Cowan supplied once Lyanna was far out of ear shot. Aly smiled sombrely at the old man. He was carrying a message, from a raven most likely. The She Bear grimaced. She had grown to fear the messages that ravens brought. Dark wings, dark words.

“What is that?” Aly dared to finally ask after there was a small pause. Cowan looked to her, confused for a moment, then remembered the parchment.

“A raven from the Wall,” Cowan whispered, handing the missive over. Aly took a deep breath. Hopefully it contained the name of the new Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

She read it quickly, and was pleased that it did indeed contain the name of the new Lord Commander. And it was none other than her uncle’s steward, Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell. Aly breathed a sigh of relief. It was not Janos Slynt, but it was a green boy, barely tested. She’d heard the rumours that Jon Snow had held the Wall when Donal Noye fell, but that was one battle, and Stannis Baratheon appeared before Snow perished. To say she had mixed feelings towards this boy’s appointment would be an understatement. Boy? He’s only a few years shy of you, a small voice reminded her.

“Ned Stark’s son is a more than adequate choice, my lady,” Cowan broke through her reverie, as if reading her mind once again. Aly grimaced.

“Yes, but does he have the stomach to stand up to this brittle king now taking up residence at the Wall?” Aly wondered aloud, scrunching the note up in her fist.

“I don’t think he will be there for long,” Cowan said mysteriously. Aly frowned at him.

“Why do you say that?” Aly finally asked, giving into the old man. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement. Not for the first time in her life, she could have hit the man.

“There was another raven, not long after this one,” he said, pulling out the parchment. The seal was unbroken, and it carried a stag surrounded by a heart on fire. Aly’s stomach dropped. “It seems your king may have need of you, after all.”

Aly took the parchment reluctantly. The fact that Cowan did not open this message did not sit well the heir to Bear Island at all. He wanted her to read Stannis Baratheon’s summons, and her alone. Until she had need of his counsel, in any case. She made her way back to the castle, picking at the seal until she was all the way into her chambers. She finally broke it, and pulled out the parchment carefully:

"To the loyal lords and ladies of the North,

With the Starks all but vanquished, the Lannisters have seen fit to place Lord Roose Bolton as Warden of the North in their stead, until the now Sansa Lannister has borne the Imp a son. This will not serve.

I intend to liberate the North from the Lannisters, and place it back in the hands of loyal Northerners who do their duty.

Swear fealty to me as your king, and you will be justly rewarded with your kingdom.

Stannis Baratheon, The First of His Name, Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

She was not surprised in the least. Aly had been told by her uncle that Baratheons had a prideful nature that not even Tywin Lannister could withstand. He has won one battle for the North and he believes he can give it back to us, Aly almost laughed at the sheer arrogance. The North was not some trivial Southron kingdom that could be taken and conquered in one week.

Her home was vast, with miles and miles between each castle. The Northerners revelled in winter, and it was most certainly coming. Already Aly could feel the tell tale bites in the day time air, the early morning snows, and the animals told her winter was on its way as well. They burrowed deep within the earth, stocking up on their fat stores. The bears were few and far between as the weeks went on. They were ready.

Aly only hoped that when winter did show its horrible face, the North was ready too.


End file.
